


send my regards to hell

by GalaxyGhosty



Series: The Monster's Darling [5]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-25 22:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9849728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGhosty/pseuds/GalaxyGhosty
Summary: AU.“My man, for yours,”Cry’s voice fizzles--a static sound, like a virus.“You have three days to comply. I’ll be generous. But everyday after, well...you can have your sweet little Jack back. In pieces, of course. See you soon, buddy.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Boy this part was fun to write. 
> 
> As twisted as that sounds, this part really has been an adventure. This is the second part I went ahead and wrote based on that Bastille song from last part--and I don't want to spoil too much before the story starts, but I must admit I'm enjoying the character development that keeps happening.
> 
> Also! Jules is kind of like my "dark Felix" character, and he's practically my child at this point. I know he's very brief in this part, but you can expect that he'll be making a return. 
> 
> Anyway, enough of my rambling. Enjoy guys! 
> 
> Song title from "Blame" by Bastille.

“You might want to take a look at this, Grim.”

“This had better be worth my time, Jules,” Dark replies, responding to his nickname with ease. “Otherwise you’ll be losing a finger.”

The Swedish man doesn’t even snort, a low grunt instead of rumbling in his chest, as he slides across the room. Dark crosses his arms as Jules put a laptop in front of him, tapping away on it for a few moments before it blinks to life.

A video?

“A video?” Dark repeats his own thought. “This has better not be one of your shitty internet memes I don’t give a fuck about.”

“I wish,” Jules answers vaguely. “Watch.”

The sound rolls, and static fizzles onto the screen before slowly the picture clears. 

Dark’s heart bursts out of his chest when there’s Jack sitting there, tied to the chair. 

Bound by the wrists and presumably the ankles as well, his physique looks awful. Small and pale and bloody, he’s got bruises on every part of him, his clothes torn and mucky, his nose dripping. His chest rises and falls with great difficulty. 

_“This isn’t going to get you what you want,”_ Jack’s voice crackles, hoarse and rough. _“He doesn’t care about me. You picked the wrong goddamn person.”_

_“Shut up,”_ an off-camera voice snarls. _“Speak.”_

_“Do it,”_ Jack sneers. _“Go ahead and kill me. It’s still not going to get you want you want. I’m literally just a person to fuck in his eyes. He won’t come for me, asshole.”_

Dark grinds his teeth together, watching the scene continue to play out. 

_“The Monster’s Darling,”_ the voice says. _“That’s what they say about you. The gemstone in his organization. The only person to turn the heart of stone into a physical heart. Don’t play games with me, boy. Don’t pretend like you have no influence.”_

_“You’re pretty fucking stupid,”_ Jack spits. _“He doesn’t love me. He never has, and he never will. So if you were hoping to score a jackpot, you’re wrong.”_

The voice steps into the camera, and it’s a masked man, white and bleak, and Dark knows that mask anywhere. He watches as Cry approaches Jack’s chair from behind, grabbing him by the neck, holding a knife to it.

_“Alright, Dark, buddy, pal,”_ he sounds like he’s smiling, now. _“Let’s make a deal. I’ve got something you want, and you’ve got something I want. So let’s trade. Okay?”_

Dark thinks back on the man locked deep below this facility. A weasel of a man, who spilled every secret after a few twisted and broken bones. Cry probably knows this--probably wants to dispose of the rat himself. 

_“My man, for yours,”_ Cry’s voice fizzles--a static sound, like a virus. _“You have three days to comply. I’ll be generous. But everyday after, well...you can have your sweet little Jack back. In pieces, of course. See you soon, buddy.”_

A distorted laugh follows, and the screen fades to black. 

“Take your fucking laptop away,” Dark snarls. “Or I’m going to crush it.”

Jules grabbed the device like it’s his child, and perhaps it is. Regardless, he leans back in his chair, and pure, unbridled fury boils beneath his skin, igniting his core. 

“This was sent two hours ago to me,” Jules informs him. “Obviously, he knew I’d show it to you.”

“How did they get him?” Dark tries to keep his voice even, but it’s really not happening. He’s got this overwhelming urge to literally break anything within sight. It’s looking to be Jules’ face. “No one should know about him.” 

Jules manages a tight smile. “I guess since his recent appearance at your place, people started to find out about him. He’s not exactly under witness protection. It’s not hard to find some info on the kid--you saw easy it was for you to get information on him all that time ago. A couple of button clicks, and seeing how he left your house alive and intact--it’s not hard to figure he means something to you.” 

Dark does a mental inventory of his weaponry on hand--he’s got a couple of guns lying around in the office that could serve as a means of getting information. The keep is safe in Jules’ hands, so that’s no trouble, but he wonders how many of Cry’s goonies will be circling the place. The shitty old warehouse that he uses as a base of operation. 

“You know, Grim, you don’t keep me around to tell you life advice,” Jules drawls. “But I want you to think long and hard about what this kid means to you.” 

“You’re right,” Dark replies. “I don’t keep you around to tell me life advice. Shut the hell up.”

Jules doesn’t flinch at this. He’s always been the one capable of handling Dark’s venom with little issue. “You’re going to go in and risk your life for this kid. You’re going to risk giving up valuable information for a kid you claim you have no attachment to. If you’re just fuckbuddies, Grim, you won’t go in after him. He doesn’t know anything. He’s not indispensable, and frankly, he’s not useful.” 

“What I choose to do is none of your concern,” Dark warns him. “Are you questioning my authority, Arvid?” 

Jules’ lips twist into a scowl at the use of his last name. “Maybe if you acted like an adult, I wouldn’t. You only throw around your “boss” status when you know I’m right. As if you’ve ever been the sole person in charge here.”

Dark considers throwing something at him, and though he’ll never admit it, Jules is right. Jules runs the organization as much as he does--perhaps more--his businessman qualities shining through. It’s undisputed that members of the organization listen to Jules when Dark isn’t around--and even sometimes when he is. 

“Shut up,” he finally settles on, running his fingers through his hair. He doesn’t know what else to say. “Just shut up and let me think.”

“You’re also acting like that’s something you do,” Jules snips back.

He’s right, of course. But it’s still annoying as hell. 

~~

The man hears him before he sees him, but he’s not fast enough to block Dark before he’s slamming his head against the wall.

“You’ve got one chance,” Dark sneers. “Where is he?” 

“Who?” the man cries out, startled by the sudden force. “Who are you talking about?”

Without answering, Dark presses the barrel of the gun to his head, pulling the trigger with a click. His blood splatters on the wall, on his face and hands, and Dark lets his body fall to the floor. 

He’s already tired of being in this building--but he’s not leaving without Jack at his side and Cry’s blood spilled on the floor. 

It takes him a while of roaming the building to find where Jack’s being held, but soon enough he finds a man sitting outside a rickety door, locked with a padlock that doesn’t look to be at all in good condition. Dark doesn’t wait to ask questions when he rounds the corner and fires a warning shot directly next to his head. 

“Drop your goddamn gun,” Dark says. “Or the next one goes through your head.” 

Surprisingly, the man drops the weapon with ease, raising his hands in surrender. Dark eyes him up and down, seeing keys at his belt. Stepping forward, he puts out his hand. “Keys.” 

“I can’t--” the man starts, but Dark’s glare shuts him up. Begrudgingly, he loops them off his belt, dropping them into Dark’s outstretched palm. 

“Thank you,” Dark smiles, and then pulling the trigger, fires the round off into his head.

His body crumbles, and Dark approaches the door. Fiddling with the keys, he slips onto into the lock, turning it, and it clicks. The padlock drops, and Dark pushes the door open. 

At first glance, it doesn’t appear to be much of anything inside. It seems decrepit and full of something vile, but Dark keeps quiet as he zeroes in on the one darker shape in the corner of the room. 

Stepping further inside, there, chained to a metal beam by his ankle, is Jack. 

His face is hidden in the crook of his arms, his knees pulled to his chest. When Dark’s footsteps approach him, he watches as his entire form tenses. 

“He’s not coming,” he sounds so soft, scared. “I can’t make him come. Just kill me, okay? Just get it over with. I don’t know anything. There’s no point in torturing me.” 

Pulling out the other key, Dark kneels down and unlocks his ankle. Jack’s hand falls weakly from its coiled position, perhaps in a meek attempt at fighting, but still he doesn’t look up. Dark grabs that wrist, smoothing his thumb over the reddened and raw skin. 

“I’m not coming, am I?” Dark asks, and the way Jack’s head snaps up is almost comical. “Nice to see you have faith in me, darling.” 

Inhibitions out the window, presumably overwhelmed, Jack throws his arms around him, hanging onto him. He feels so small, so much smaller than normal, and Dark vaguely wonders how long he’d been in their hands before that video had been sent. 

Something churns in his chest, and Dark places a hand between his shoulder blades, pulling him against him. He can feel Jack’s heartbeat, wild and untamed, and Dark hushes him quietly. 

“Christ,” Jack begins to cry, and for once, Dark doesn’t blame him. Whatever he’s been through with Cry can’t have be pretty. “I didn’t--I didn’t think--”

“Can you walk?” Dark asks. There’s time for this later, there’s plenty of time for him to sob and cry and scream, but right now, Dark’s got another mission and that’s making Cry pay for reducing Jack to this. “We need to go.”

Sniffling, Jack pulls himself to his feet, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He sucks in a deep breath, as though putting on a mask of calm long enough to get out of here. Then he nods. There’s a limp in his step, and he presses his hand to the wall to stabilize himself. 

Dark’s blood boils. He can’t even fucking walk straight. Whether the ankle’s broken or not, he can’t tell--he’s no doctor, after all--but it’s at least fucked up to some degree.

“Are you going to kill them?” Jack’s voice betrays no emotion. He’s holding himself like he’s in great pain, and he must be. “These people, I mean.”

“Two are already dead,” Dark says casually. “Anyone else I come across is getting a bullet in their skull as well. Once the bullets run out, I’ve still got two functioning hands.” 

Jack looks visibly repulsed by the notion. Dark gives him a look over. “Do you want to stay here?” 

“No,” the answer is quick. “I don’t...I don’t want to be in here anymore.” 

Vaguely, Dark wonders how long he’s been in this room. But it’s fading, and his main task at hand resumes its foremost position. With a jerk of his head, he tells his companion, “Try and keep up.” 

Then he’s moving out of the room. 

~~

Four dead men and twenty minutes later, he kicks down what he presumes to be Cry’s door. Dark’s always about a show, after all.

Without speaking, Jack remains dutifully out of sight, and Dark cocks his gun. 

The masked man stares back at him, his own gun already poised and ready.

“Enough with the theatrics, Dark,” Cry’s voice fizzles through the mask. His voice has always been unknown, same with his face. Cry is perhaps the only person in the world Dark--or Jules--can’t get information about. “Where’s my man?”

“Dead within the next few hours,” Dark says. “Don’t pretend like you want him back for the sake of it. I’m doing you a favor. He’s a rat, anyway. I know whatever dirty secrets you fed to him.”

“Fortunately, that’s not much,” Cry hums. “I always knew he’d turn on me. But you’ll find that a deal’s a deal--one you’ve already broken.”

Dark takes a step closer. Cry tilts his head. “He can come in. I know he’s out there, breathing heavily, legs wobbling. You’re scaring him, talking like this.” 

“Don’t talk about him,” Dark’s temper flares up again, as though he hadn’t been pissed before all this. “Don’t think about him. Don’t breathe the same fucking air. You don’t deserve to.” 

“I’m not sure you deserve to either,” Cry counters. “He told me all about you in our...rather intimate time together. Just you. The man you are underneath every layer and shred of this big bad villain. Jack McLoughlin--all alone. No one to love him. Except you. But you won’t even tell him you love him, will you?” 

Dark presses his lips into a thin line. “I think I’m done talking.” 

“His boyfriend left him because of you,” Cry murmurs, as though he hadn’t spoken. “That’s how we got him. Ex threw him out in a fit of rage, and he wandered all by his lonesome into the wrong part of town. I thought you would’ve taught him better? Or did you just think that your influence would protect him? Originally, when my men caught him--we were just gonna sell him. That was before we realized who he was, and what he meant to you.”

He’s heard enough. Pulling the trigger, a bullet escapes the chamber with a resounding crack. Cry ducks his head to the side, and it whizzes past. “Now, now. That wasn’t nice.” 

“Trust me, you want me to hit you with this bullet,” Dark growls. “I’ve got two shots left. You don’t want my hands on you.” 

“Then take him,” his voice drops in pitch, shifting, darker. “Take him and go. Kill my man if you want. I’ve grown tired of this exchange already. Your mind is obviously muddled with your repressed love. So consider this a gift. We’ll meet again, Dark. Someday, we could be partners. I’d like that.”

“I wouldn’t,” Dark grouses. “And nothing is a gift from you. It’s a favor. What’s the catch?”

He imagines that Cry would be smiling if his face was visible. He offers no answer to his question, instead murmuring, “Tell Jules hello for me, won’t you?” 

Turning, Cry begins to leave, as though confident Dark won’t shoot him in the back. But Dark is nothing if not efficient, and with his back turned, he squeezes the trigger once again. 

Right in the shoulder. 

His distorted chuckle rings out, and Dark watches him exit the building. Going after him wouldn’t necessarily be a mistake, but he’ll be expending a lot of energy hunting him down, and without a solid operation, Dark’s not sure he _could_ kill him. 

Jack shuffles out from behind the door. “...I didn’t tell him all of that.” 

“You didn’t have to,” Dark says. “Let’s go.” 

Then, back the way he came, he leaves, Jack at his heels. 

~~

He takes Jack back to his house, neither of them speaking the entire way back. Jack stands awkwardly in the doorway, like he’s never been here before, leaning against the wall as though he may fall over at any given moment. Grabbing him by the wrist, Dark drags him into the bathroom. 

Mothering someone has never been his strong suit--Dark can’t remember the last time he did. He’s not sure if he’s ever coddled someone. He’s always been a hard sort of figure, even before getting into the rough and tough of criminal life. 

Leaning down, he turns on the bath faucet to warm, letting it run through the temporary cold before he turns back. Without waiting for permission, he begins to pull Jack’s ruined shirt over his head, which he lets him do with a small hiss and a wince. Dark avoids locating the scrapes and bruises he may have on him--it will only make him angry again. 

It’s strange, stripping Jack down without that same, heavy intent. He and Jack have always had a very sexual relationship, full of wandering hands and sloppy, open-mouthed kisses on every inch of skin. It’s strange pulling off his clothes, knowing that they’re not having sex, and he doesn’t even mind. 

“Take a shower,” Dark orders him, as gently as he can manage. “Or a bath. I really don’t care. I’ll leave some clothes for you on the sink. Come out whenever you’re ready.” 

Before Jack can finish taking off his boxers, Dark exits the bathroom and closes the door. 

A little while later, Jack reappears into the room, looking warmer and at ease, but still lacking the color he once had. There seems to be a permanent frown resting on his cheeks, and Dark moves away from his laptop to ask, “Hungry?”

“Why did you come for me?” Jack prompts instead. “You risked...dying, to come after me.”

“Cry wouldn’t have killed me,” Dark answers coolly. “There was little risk for me. Besides, he had no business taking you. He tried to use you as a tool, and I didn’t appreciate it.” 

Jack’s staring at him funny. Dark tilts his head. “My turn. How long did he have you?” 

He rubs at his arm, fiddling with the material of Dark’s shirt in his fingers. “A little over a week, I think. It was hard to keep track. Days blurred together after a while.” 

A week. A whole fucking week, and only three days ago he got that video. Cry kept him for longer, probably tormented him physically and emotionally, just so he’d be like this when he got him back. Quiet and frightened. 

“I thought I was gonna die,” Jack mumbles, shaking his head. They’re still so far apart, and Dark finds himself wishing he would step closer. How ridiculous of a thought it is, but he doesn’t care. “I’m sorry. Everything is...weird right now. There’s this static in the back of my mind, and every time I move, something hurts. My wrist feels like it’s on fire, I don’t know--Cry did something to it. Sprained, broken--I don’t fucking know. I don’t know if I’ve slept properly since all this happened. I--I’m sorry.”

His voice trails off into a whisper, cracking on the last apology. Knowing the kind of person Cry is, Dark can’t begin to place himself in Jack’s shoes, someone who isn’t equipped to handle that sort of torment, to be resilient against that level of torture. He’s just a civilian, after all. A young man soft from his days out of the crime life. 

Breaking every shitty boundary he has with himself, because Jack always pulls out this side of him, Dark crosses the space between them. He puts a gentle hand on his shoulder, placing the other at his cheek, brushing his thumb along his cheekbone. 

It calms him, recognizing that Jack is still in one piece. Whole and solid. A little twisted up, but still himself. Dark hasn’t lost him. 

Jack’s barely breathing. Those bright blue eyes he’s grown so fond of stare at him with a muted sense of curiosity, searching. 

“I’m glad I got to you in time,” is what he says, the words leaving him before he’s really aware of them. These feelings are so unlike him, so full of something he hasn’t felt in a long, long time. Perhaps not ever. But he means them, more than anything.

Jack is wise enough to not comment; he chooses to close his eyes, and lean into his touch. 

“What did he mean,” Jack speaks after a time, eyes still closed. “When he said he’d like to work with you? Is what he does...something you do?”

“It’s best you don’t know what I actually do,” Dark replies. “It’ll keep you out of trouble.”

“I think I’m already in trouble,” and that’s true, against his wishes. “Tell me.”

Dark’s lips curl into a small grin, both bitter and proud at once. “No, Cry and I are different. My partner and I, we do pretty much everything bad you can think of. Drugs, organs, weaponry, stealing, hit jobs--that sort of thing. The only thing we don’t get involved with is the slave trade. Objects are easily obtained. Humans aren’t. That’s why I won’t work with him. He likes to sell people. I don’t.” 

Jack looks uncomfortable with the thought, so Dark doesn’t bother to elaborate. 

Deciding that, whether he’s hungry or not he needs to eat, Dark breaks from him and heads towards the kitchen. 

“Thank you,” Jack blurts out behind him. “For...saving me. You didn’t have to.”

Dark could brush him off. He could not answer. He could say something he doesn’t mean, but none of these options sound particularly appealing. There’s something in him though, that holds him back, and speaking just feels wrong in this atmosphere. 

“Yes, I did,” he finally manages, and finds that he can speak no more. Perhaps there’s nothing left to say. “Come in here. You need to eat.” 

Jack’s eyes burn holes into his head as he walks out of the room.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for your continued support of me and this series!! Please feel free to talk to me over at galaxyghosty.tumblr.com!! I love hearing from you guys! :D


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